


A Viscount's Honour

by koszyczek



Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: Anal Fingering, In Public, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quickies, Regency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:47:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28407954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koszyczek/pseuds/koszyczek
Summary: After much pining, Anthony Bridgerton decides to state his claim over his recently returned friend, the Duke of Hastings, Simon Basset. The Dark Path seems as good a place as any, for that matter.
Relationships: Anthony Bridgerton/Siena Rosso, Simon Basset/Anthony Bridgerton
Comments: 13
Kudos: 233





	A Viscount's Honour

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I thirst-watched Bridgerton. Yes, I got baited into it by the costumes and hunks. Yes, I'm mad the queers only got crumbs.

“You’re a rake, Hastings, there is no denying,” Anthony pants, undoing his companion’s breeches with hasty fingers. He can feel Simon’s growing excitement hardening under the grip of his palm. It remains unclear how exactly they found themselves in this predicament, entangled, quite literally under the darkening sky with the humdrum of celebrations quietly chastising them from a distance.

Anthony tried to not betray his false countenance through these last weeks of courting between the Duke and his sister. He had observed the exchanges of words, the glances across the halls, with quiet contempt masquerading as brotherly protectiveness. With each denial of Daphne’s obvious infatuation with Simon, Anthony’s own loins ached for his friend’s attention. The whole affair was rather vexing, yet Anthony’s desire had been roused from the moment he heard of his friend’s return to the city. Even an unquenchable reliance on drink did not dampen the onslaught of memories that plagued Anthony in his dreams, and forced him to change sheets in the morning. The remembrances of his youth brought with them sentiments Anthony believed to have abandoned in the corridors of boarding school.

Yet here he is, his honour dropped to his knees, with Hastings’ member throbbing against Anthony’s tongue, as he lavishly drags it over its head, lapping at the droplets of desire that escape Simon’s cock. Perhaps it is the tight grip of the duke’s palm on the viscount’s neck, or the unexpected gentility revealed by Simon’s groans but Anthony cannot help and moan himself. Quite striking how a sound produced so frequently in the presence of others takes on new meaning when it is elicited by the workings of a loved one’s length.

“I want you, Bridgerton,” Hasting says, his gravelly voice thickened by lust.

With these three words, their past is laid out as clearly as the moonlight observing their misdeeds. It had been just the same at boarding school; Hastings crawling into Anthony’s bedding, uncertain hands reaching underneath the cover of night to explore youthful longings, innocent tumblings transforming into something tangible, something gratifying. Anthony remembers Simon’s touch, his nimble touch, fingers squeezing his scrotum with certainty at the brink of Anthony’s orgasm to prolong it into uncomfortable lengths. It is Hastings’ face that hovers over Anthony with each stranger Siena welcomes into their chambers, Anthony’s orders echoes of a past, overlaid with the desires he saved for private confessions. “I _want_ you, Bridgerton,” the duke repeats himself, tugging Anthony up for a kiss with renewed urgency.

Simon had always been needy after Anthony’s oral pleasures, eager to taste himself on the other’s tongue. Familiarity allows the two to dive into old habits, their tongues gliding with ease between their mouths, sounds so indecent they make Anthony blush despite his own lax morals. With Hastings, he had always felt at ease, willing to uncover longings he dared not share even with Siena. A gasp, so shrill a stranger would suspect a lady’s dishonour, escapes Anthony as the duke dares to slide his palm into the back of the viscount’s breeches to cup his behind; the duke’s fingers prodding, inching towards Anthony’s centre, distracting him with soft promises of defilement and languid laps.

Anthony’s protest at the sudden retrieval of Hastings’ hand is cut short by his fellow’s fingers sliding into Anthony’s mouth. His mind scrubbed clean, Anthony melts into the duke’s touch, shoving them into a hedge. The taste of perfumed fingers and a day’s work makes Anthony squirm, instinctively suckle on the soft flesh in a way Anthony knows will send shivers down the duke’s spine.

He is only momentarily grounded to the present when Hastings slides his wettened palm back to its former place. “Halt... I have oil,” Anthony says, blushing at the revelation of his hidden motives. He had the vial ready for weeks, as a promise of sorts, to resolve his past affairs with the duke once and for all. Oil reveals premeditation, however, and Hastings knows as much from the unfurling Cheshire grin on his face, yet he makes a calculated choice not to comment. Instead, he turns Anthony around, giving Anthony enough notice to shield his face from the hedge’s pricks with his arm.

There is danger, Anthony knows, of being seen. The dark path, while aptly named, is not an unknown one. However, people frequenting it at this hour search for exactly the sort of endeavour the duke and viscount are currently enwrapped in. Not that Anthony is willing to share Hastings with anyone, certainly not after such a prolonged time of absence and, if he is honest with himself, pining. “I want you, Hastings,” he says unabashedly. He needs Simon to know how much he wants him.

Even if the other did not hear him clearly, the uncontrolled pants of pleasure at the duke’s probing, oiled fingers gliding into Anthony’s hole share both of their intentions straightforwardly enough. The burn of Simon’s index and middle finger is quickly tempered by the pleasure erupting from within. A warmth spreading through Anthony’s insides, making his head swim as Simon presses himself against the viscount. With one arm wrapped around Anthony’s neck for a firmer grip, the duke’s fingers lose their gingerly approach for a more self-assured momentum that makes Anthony’s knees buckle. This position of sheer entrapment allows Hastings to lap at Anthony and whisper insolent perversions, as well as gentle praise into his ear.

“Tell me, Bridgerton, did you ever touch yourself down here.” At that Hastings curls three of his fingers in a manner that crushes a spot which knocks the wind out of the viscount’s gut. “Did you pleasure yourself after you had notice of my return? Did you lie in your chambers, with my letters spread around you, panting for your friend and lover to return into your arms, and claim your honour as he did years ago?” Anthony had, as a form of preparation, with the hope of reconciliation. He was ready, always, in a similar manner as with the vial of oil stuffed in one of his coat pockets at each chance encounter with the duke. A fact he would proudly hide from Hastings, whose character is much too grand already, yet with the man’s inquisitive hand, he could only nod along weakly. At that point, Anthony’s own length is leaking lustfully past the slid-back foreskin of his member. “Please, Hastings, just- just fuck me, _please._ ”

He can feel that grin again, and turns around as his position allows to plant an uncontrolled kiss on the duke’s lips. “Fuck me,” Anthony says, a litany, getting more desperate with each repetition inbetween laps of pleasure. “Fuck me, _duke_ of Hastings,” he says, until Simon fulfils his wish and replaces his fingers with his length. A fulfilment, indeed, so grand Hastings is forced to place a palm over Anthony’s face to prevent the Queen herself from entreating upon this interruption of festivities. He does not, however, drop it that quickly, instead muffling the delicious obscenities pouring from Anthony’s mouth with each thrust. Another day Anthony would force Hastings to be gentle, and treat the viscount with deserved care and preparation. Tonight, however, he lets his desire engulf him as the duke pounds into Anthony, the slapping sounds of bare flesh getting lost in the expanse of the maze. “You’re so tight, Bridgerton,” the duke pants, “I think you require proper training again.”

“Likewise,” the viscount bites back as images fill his mind. A promised future flashes before Anthony’s eyes, filled with ropes, ties and techniques that the duke’s grand tour of pleasure may have equipped him along the way. At present, he feels his own excitement reaching a peak, the tightness blooming from his groin outwards, stealing his breath. As the duke’s cock breeches Anthony’s inner ring the viscount feels himself spill without grand announcement. Fertile seed trickling into the flora, one spurt after the other, seemingly without end. Anthony’s whole being lights up like the lanterns of the Queen’s parade, one spot sparking an entire flood of levity, that once more makes Anthony groan from deep within. This time, Hastings makes no attempt to stifle but instead joins hands, as his own orgasm catches up with his feverish, deliberate thrusts. The feeling of Simon’s pleasure filling Anthony’s guts makes him reach back and hold Simon tight, nails digging into the muscle of his behind.

Anthony longs to remain like this for aeons, so wholly united. Where in youth he often bolted into the halls, physically repulsed until their next romp, this time he embraced this moment fully. With Hastings’ brow resting on his shoulder the pain of nature’s pinpricks slowly rises against Anthony’s muted contentment. “Come to the house with me tonight, Hastings,” Anthony whispers, braving to break their silence.

“I cannot,” Simon says. Anthony is certain the duke would feel his being deflate if their position allowed for such a move. However, before he can respond, the duke continues, “Your mother, and Daphne... They would know. We will take the carriage back to my chambers, where privacy is ensured. Do not fret, Bridgerton, I am not done with you yet.”

**Author's Note:**

> If y'all want more, hmu in the DMs on Twitter @khoshek. Check out other fics (my bookmarks have my old fics from an orphaned account). Thanks for reading! Comment or Kudos greatly appreciated my fellow horndogs.


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